Chapter 5

"That bastard is awake." Lana told Smith, Anthony's half brother.

"seriously, how was it even possible that he escaped that plane crash alive?" Smith asked with a frown. "Father died but he didn't, how? how did he survive it, now he's awake"

"Maybe we just have to end his life with our bare hands" Lana said as she plopped down on the bed.

"I have to find a way to get my hands on the Hartford's fortune." Smith gritted, his hands folded in fists.

"Imagine all the power we could wield if only we could get our hands on it." Lana smiled.

"we have to step up our game" Smith began, his brows creased. "Now we have a new target, Avery."

****************.

With a heavy lump in her chest, Avery stepped into the shower, letting the warm water stream down her tense body. Afterward, she changed into her evening dress, the fabric clinging tight to her skin.

A soft knock sounded at her door.

"Come in," she mumbled.

Mrs. Meyer entered with a tray of food balanced carefully in her hands.

"I'm not hungry. You shouldn't have bothered," Averyn said, her voice flat.

"Madam Valerie gave strict instructions to ensure you eat well and rest properly," Mrs. Meyer replied gently.

Avery sighed, the weight in her chest only deepening.

"Just leave it on the table. Thank you."

Mrs. Meyer placed the tray down and hesitated before speaking again.

"Mr. Anthony would like to see you in his study."

Avery’s brows pulled together.

"Is there a problem?" she asked. Earlier that day, he had acted like she was some kind of taboo and now he wanted to see her?

"Certainly not," Mrs. Meyer replied with a tight smile.

Avery stood up slowly. "Alright then. Lead the way."

They walked in silence until they reached a polished door at the end of the hall. Mrs. Meyer paused.

"In there," she said, gesturing her hand toward the door.

Avery’s hand trembled as she knocked softly.

"Come in," a deep, raspy voice rumbled through the door.

She opened the door slow and cautiously.

Anthony sat behind the desk in a wheelchair, dressed in a black shirt and matching denim. His tousled dark hair looked like he has just crawled out of bed after a night of rough sex. His ocean-blue eyes, cold and unreadable, pierced hers.

He looked very much alive, too alive for someone who had been at death’s door not long ago.

He rolled his chair backward, positioning himself behind the desk so the furniture stood like a barrier between them.

"I'm not surprised my mother arranged a wife for me while I was dying," he said, voice calm but edged with bitterness. "She has always wanted a daughter-in-law and a grandchild."

He paused, eyes lifting to meet hers directly.

"But let’s be clear: don’t expect kindness or romance from me. This is a marriage of convenience. Nothing more."

Avery swallowed hard, her heart sinking.

"After the one-year agreement is up, we’re done," he added firmly.

She hadn’t expected love. But hearing it spoken aloud still stung.

Then he leaned forward, his gaze darkening.

"Most importantly, get rid of that thing."

It took a second to understand what he meant. Her hand flew instinctively to her stomach.

"I can’t," she whispered, voice barely audible. Her hands pressed her stomach protectively.

His face twisted in disgust.

"That wasn’t a question. It was an order. You will do as I say. For the next year. I own you."

Avery wanted to speak, to scream, to push back. But the lump in her throat choked the words. Her whole body felt heavy, like she was standing on breaking ice.

"You may leave now," he said with a flick of his hand.

She turned and left without another word, her shoulders drooping, her steps slow.

She had no one to love. And no one to love her.

But the life growing inside her, it gave her something. A reason to hope. A reason to fight. A purpose.

Whether he liked it or not, she would keep her baby. She would leave before the pregnancy shows. But first, she needed a job. And before that, she had to bury her mother… then inform her father.

He probably didn't care about them, whether they were alive or not. If he did then he would have reached out to them but he didn't. Still, he deserved to know his wife was gone.

Back in her room, she walked to the dressing table and eyed the tray of food. For a moment, she just stared at it. Then, thinking of her baby, she sat and ate a few bites of the chicken salad.

Afterward, she lay down, curling her knees up to her chest, her hands curled between them. She didn't even have anyone to call her name. She stirred restlessly beneath the sheets. Sleeping now felt like an impossible task.

Finally, just as her eyes fluttered closed, sunlight sipped through the curtains.

She groaned and sat up slowly. The day of her mother’s burial had arrived.

Dragging herself out of bed, she headed to the bathroom.

With everything inside her, she prayed these dreadful days would pass quickly.